


Somebody Else

by RoswellSmokingWoman



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Will Graham and Hannibal, Everyone else is a side relationship, F/M, Flirting, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Heartbreak, M/M, Mainly Will and Hannibal, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Redemption, Rejection, Smut, Whump, Will Graham Hates Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22699363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoswellSmokingWoman/pseuds/RoswellSmokingWoman
Summary: Hannibal’s passion, temporarily ignited, urges him to blink. It’s a heavy blink that sends him momentarily to his home in Baltimore, Will Graham sitting across from him. Hannibal tells himself this isn't who he wants to see--he does not need Will Graham. Even still, he lets himself indulge. They both hold champagne, leaning forward in their seats to be closer to one another. The cool remembrance feels like acid against his skin. When his eyes open again, he tells himself he can no longer pretend. Anthony Dimmond’s existence is a rude reminder of the man who’d betrayed him not long ago. Hannibal tells himself that mere existence can be rude, too. He smiles at the conclusion.Inspired by Somebody Else, a song by The 1975, a retelling of season 3 and a bridge into season 4.
Relationships: Anthony Dimmond/Hannibal Lecter, Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Molly Hooper
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	1. No, I don't want your body, But I'm picturing your body with somebody else

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal attempts to forget Will who he had left behind in Baltimore, cut open on the floor. The ghost of Will Graham haunts him through Anthony Dimmond, a man so similar yet different from the one he's trying to let go.
> 
> Ch 1: Hannibal in Florence, with Bedelia and Anthony 
> 
> Ch 2: Art Gallery and aftermath, reading into the time between the gallery and wanting to slice Will's head open.
> 
> Ch 3: Will and Molly backstory, then following Red Dragon plot
> 
> Ch 4 (possibly): After the fall

Somebody Else

The occupied seat next to his feels empty, the body next to him feeling distinctly wrong. The blonde woman, curls cascading down her shoulders—she is quite the piece to have on his arm. She reflects everything he values: class, elegance, tidiness, and classical beauty. No one could protest that Bedelia Du Maurier possessed all of these qualities. Hannibal himself couldn’t, either. Even so, it is what he doesn’t have that he wants. In that moment, as the jet takes off, his stomach sinks to his feet.

Up in the air, the champagne served tastes bitter against his tongue, a normal indulgence now stripped of its sweetness and aroma. He wonders if all he eats would turn to ash on his tongue for the remainder of his life, a corpse dragging himself amongst the living. He presses his lips together, not revealing a stich of emotion to Bedelia who uncomfortably smiles at him.

Even so, she wonders what must have happened to prompt Hannibal to take her with him. She knows, above all else, that Hannibal desired to take Will with him. Which must mean, unfortunately for Hannibal, that Will had betrayed him. Will who Hannibal allowed to peek under his person suit. Will who Hannibal found to be a rude and messy thing but drew beauty from him anyway. Will who Hannibal cried for as he sent him to prison, a loss that Hannibal couldn’t bear. Will who Hannibal could not live without, hopelessly and damagingly in love. Will, Will, Will—it dizzies Bedelia. She realizes her time next to Hannibal is slowly slipping away, sand from the top of the hourglass flowing down to the bottom undramatically. Bedelia is a poor substitute for Will Graham. She wonders if Hannibal understands that he’s made her into a rebound. Even so, she’ll play the part while it benefits her to do so.

****

Anthony Dimmond, if only for an iota, is a breathtaking site. His blue eyes pierce through Hannibal’s, and in that second a deadly tango begins to play. Anthony, dipping his drink back and swallowing it in one determined gulp, then turns his full attention to Hannibal. Hannibal can’t say that he isn’t excited by the attention, the lust. He’s enchanted immediately by the ghost-like face which haunts Hannibal’s vision. He could pretend, Hannibal tells himself. If he squints, remembers the gruff voice he’s longed to hear. He could fashion a substitute out of his mind palace projected on a similar frame, a bastardized creature which could compete with Frankenstein’s own creation. To give rise to the dead, pitifully forcing two wrong pieces of the teacup together. Even so, Hannibal breathes in the faintest scent of fresh pine from the skin of the man standing before him, and he convinces himself he could pretend.

“Do you know Roman well?” Dimmond asks him, a cheeky smile gracing his lips.

Hannibal doesn’t respond, consumed by the vision of Will Graham standing before him. He wills himself to not reach out, to not give himself away.

Dimmond continues, amused. “You were staring with the thinly veiled disdain of a man who does. I was his TA at Cambridge. He was insufferable even then.” He finishes his second glass of champagne then, wondering if he could get the other man to play. He places the old glass on a tray and grabs two more, handing one to Hannibal. “Have you read his books? They're terrible. You know they're terrible, but you're too polite to say. Blink if you agree.”

Hannibal’s passion, temporarily ignited, urges him to blink. It’s a heavy blink that sends him momentarily to his home in Baltimore, Will Graham sitting across from him. Hannibal tells himself this isn't who he wants to see--he does not need Will Graham. Even still, he lets himself indulge. They both hold champagne, leaning forward in their seats to be closer to one another. The cool remembrance feels like acid against his skin. When his eyes open again, he tells himself he can no longer pretend. Anthony Dimmond’s existence is a rude reminder of the man who’d betrayed him not long ago. Hannibal tells himself that mere existence can be rude, too. He smiles at the conclusion.

****

The images of Florence take Hannibal’s mind way from Will Graham for a time. A place he’d visited in his youth, he gives himself time to revisit the old streets his feet had walked upon many years ago. The enticing scent of fresh bread in the air, and wine—oh, the wine. Hannibal would bathe in the fine Italian wine, if he were to fully submerge himself in his indulgences. It's in his desire to be lavished and indulgent, that he finds Will again. The empty feeling that Will is not here again enjoying the scents of bread and wine startles him. He'd almost escaped from all that. He shakes his head. Leaving the steps of the Palazzo Capponi, he feels a hand wrap itself around his arm. He turns to find Anthony Dimmond behind him, stubble on his face and hair wild. There it is again, that reminder. He feels a hand grip his heart and squeeze tightly around the suffering organ.

“We met in Paris a few months back. Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, but here I was and then, there you were... I never forget a face...” Anthony tells him. He feels a pull towards Hannibal, a kind of attraction that he wants to be reciprocated.

Hannibal knows this well, but it’s the fact that Anthony is attracted to him that makes his heart ache. He feels wrong. “Anthony Dimmond,” Hannibal replies kindly.

“Nice to be remembered,” Anthony replies warmly, closing some of the distance between them.

“You’re hard to forget,” Hannibal exhales, and it is true. Though, it’s not for the reasons Anthony wants to be unforgettable. Anthony is rude, brash, bold, and intelligent. How tempting he would be to Hannibal, if he hadn’t already found his match so far away. Anthony is everything that Will is, but also not quite. He is missing that dark tinge to his eyes that tells Hannibal he would understand the beauty in horror and blood. He is missing the mind which Hannibal’s grown fond of over the years, knocking away the other personality traits which he would normally despise. Anthony Dimmond is a distasteful imitation, a cruel trick God placed on the earth to taunt Hannibal. Their conversation flows on, Hannibal only half interested until its end. “If you're free, my wife and I would love to have you for dinner.”

****

Hannibal wonders if it were a mistake to leave Anthony Dimmond untouched, alive. He wonders if he would do the same if he were still free in Baltimore, and he knows that it isn’t the case. He is operating under constrained circumstances; too little time having passed to live in obscurity now. Now, with Anthony Dimmond floating about him so freely and with so much interest, Hannibal realizes how inconvenient his circumstances are.

In the salon of the Palazzo Capponi, Hannibal and Anthony are surrounded by torture instruments, a kind of beauty about them that Hannibal wishes he could appreciate alone, or with a certain someone across an ocean. Hannibal wonders what he would think—would Will find these just a beautiful and fascinating as he did? Would he find poetry in their brutality?

“An exposition of Atrocious Torture Instruments appeals to connoisseurs of the very worst in mankind,” Anthony speaks to Hannibal.

“Now that ceaseless exposure has calloused us to the lewd and the vulgar, it is instructive to see what still seems wicked to us,” Hannibal counters, eying Anthony carefully.

“What still slaps the clammy flab of our submissive consciousness hard enough to get our attention?” Anthony watches Hannibal’s movements, and monitors his micro expressions which reveal the smallest ounce of intent. It’s a shame. If he didn’t suspect Hannibal of killing Dr. Fell, he would take Hannibal’s hand into his own and gently caress it. He goes on to pretend. Only enough to lure Hannibal in to get caught. 

“What wickedness has your attention, Mr. Dimmond?” Hannibal asks curiously, addled by the sudden change in Anthony. Perhaps he had been wrong—perhaps Mr. Dimmond does indeed possess the wickedness and allure which Hannibal desires. Perhaps, instead of imitation, the universe is offering him alternative.

“Yours, ‘Dr. Fell.’ I have no delusions of morality; if I had, I would’ve gone to la polizia.” Anthony laughs wryly, watching Hannibal. “I’m curious what fate befell Dr. Fell to see you here in his stead.”

“You may have to strap me to the breaking wheel to loosen my tongue.” Hannibal jokes, imagining himself on the breaking wheel. He sees Will turning it lasciviously, even sadistically. Anthony, on the other side of Will would break his limbs with a sweet satisfaction.

“No torture was required to loosen your wife/not-your-wife’s tongue,” Anthony reveals.

Hannibal knows Bedelia is a cumbersome liability with her own intent and motives. She would be dealt with later, when it would suit him.

Anthony continues, “She overestimated my affection for the genuine Dr. Fell. Clearly, you found him as distasteful as I did.”

Hannibal’s chest tightens at the realization that Anthony too sees people as pigs meant for slaughter. The revelation teases him, causing a stirring in his chest. “On the contrary.” With another look, Hannibal realizes Anthony's bluff. This is all an act. He is on Bedelia's side, after all. He enjoys the long drawn out game, though. He wouldn't turn Hannibal in immediately.

“We can twist ourselves into all manner of uncomfortable positions just to maintain appearances, with or without a breaking wheel,” Anthony breathes calmly.

“Are you here to twist me into an uncomfortable position?” Hannibal asks, turning to Anthony. 

“I’m here to help you untwist... to our mutual benefit.”

The offer is tempting. Hannibal stares at him, and can't deny the beauty of the man. It's time, he tells himself. It's time to move on and let himself feel something else, anything else. He doesn't need Will Graham. When their lips touch, Hannibal lets himself fall smoothly against Anthony, ridding the space between their bodies. He gasps as Anthony places a hand through his hair, pulling ever so lightly to elicit a moan from Hannibal. He can't help the reaction, opening his eyes to see a familiar smile, plump lips on pale skin. He kisses Anthony harder this time, nibbling down on the bottom lip. Anthony's tongue slips into Hannibal's mouth, their tongues fighting for dominance until Hannibal succumbs. Pulling away, Anthony tells them they should relocate and Hannibal agrees. 

****

The sweaty aftermath of their sex is like a high for Hannibal, Will next to him, smiling brightly. It had been all he’d ever imagined. He can see the glow of euphoria instilled in those deep blue eyes, shimmering brightly as if it were the sun beaming on Hannibal’s skin. He feels warm now, thoroughly sprouting with life. He inhales the air and it fills his lungs as a gentle caress of rebirth.

The image shatters upon Anthony’s laugh, who looks at Hannibal naked and perfect. He places a hand on Hannibal's chest, hairy and strong. He notes the subtle softness of Hannibal's body with a distinct strength underneath. He's attractive for a man of his age, more than attractive even. He finds a unique beauty in this monster, and can't deny that it would be sad to turn him in, in a way. Anthony places a kiss on Hannibal's lips, but Hannibal isn't receptive to it. In Will’s stead, this alternative is not enough. It lacks. The image of Will rocking into him slowly still spinning in his head, he realizes that he had not had sex with Anthony, only a shell of him that had been filled by Will in his mind palace. He wonders what Anthony's body had felt like, as Hannibal projected himself away from reality and into another place, that perfect vision where he wanted to be just moments ago.

He knows then, feeling filthy, that his first instinct upon meeting Anthony Dimmond was right: his existence was rude.

****

There, in the Cappella Palatina, Hannibal’s heart lay bare for the world to view but only for Will to see. It stands a defeated gift. Hannibal was, in his own mind, vanquished. Despite walking free among men, Will had captured him fully and irrevocably. From Anthony Dimmond, Hannibal had fashioned his heart pierced with three swords. It is a cry, palpable and wretched, ringing through the chapel as a testament to Hannibal’s lamentation. He begs for him, for Will, on his knees, as a crawling and weak thing: _Come to me, please_. Despite himself, Hannibal is and will always be— _human._

****

The echo of “I forgive you,” from Will’s Graham’s voice rings in his ears, his heart shattering. He wonders if he could accept Will’s forgiveness, if he could forgive Will for having chosen Jack. Their chase, could it repair what had been broken? For a time, Hannibal’s mind is still in the catacombs of Cappella Palatina, the echo of Will Graham’s footsteps through the passageways. He could smell the aftershave on his skin, terrible and cheap, but so enticing. If he could reach out… Feel him.

Bedelia sips her red wine as she watches Hannibal, satisfied with his despair. It was a rare privilege to see him so undone, helpless. She couldn’t help but bask in the heavy air of the room, self-satisfied. “You’re ruminating the way most of us look for a lost object: we review its image in our minds and compare that image to what we see.”

“Or don’t see,” Hannibal finishes for her. 

“Was it nice to see him?” she asks, echoing their previous patient-psychiatrist relationship. She couldn’t help but be curious, be attracted by his unique and tainted mind. It is in her nature to be so.

She could see that Hannibal wanted to be chased by Will, to be found by him. She isn’t sure whether he had set himself on killing Will or loving him, but she knows either are destructive for Hannibal, albeit in different ways. She worries for her own fate, should Will ever truly reach Hannibal.

From Anthony Dimmond Hannibal turns his attention to Bedelia, and wills himself to let his mind wander to her clavicle, perfectly shaped. Bedelia has a structure to her, someone he wishes he could draw and revel in the swoops of her gentle curves contrasted by the sharp edges of her thinness. He tells himself another body would distract him from the emptiness of his chest. He tells himself that Bedelia could be suitable company for a while longer, a bridge to a life alone. Unless Will could choose him now, over Jack. If Hannibal could let him.

He tries to muster an answer to the question, searching within himself for what feels like the truth. Those hollow caves of his mind, growing emptier by the day, send him nothing. He'd done this to himself, pushing away thoughts and memories in an ever smaller room of his mind palace. He would let those thoughts become covered by dust with time. For now, he unlocks the room and lets himself feel. He lets himself take in the awkwardly gorgeous smile of Will Graham, and answers Bedelia. "It was nice. Among other things." It was devastating, he omits, pushing his lips together to seal away the sorrow. With his eyes, he tells Will goodbye, for now. Having had enough, he closes the room with a heavy hand, shutting the door. He returns to Bedelia, unbothered.


	2. I just don't believe that you have got it in you 'cause We are just gonna keep 'doin' it'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Examining Hannibal and Will's thoughts in Florence and after the events at Muskrat Farm. I embellish the show by adding an alternative event after Will gets shot by Chiyoh.

Hannibal knows that his time in Florence is coming to an end, aware that Will Graham is coming to kill him. He wonders if Will would ever not want to kill him, a thought that lingers as he draws. He sits in front of the Primavera, basking in its breathtaking beauty. On the sketch pad in front of him, he plans his design. His heart aches as he recalls the shape of Will’s face, the sharpness of his jawline and the plumpness of his lips. In place of Zephyrus, Will watches back at him, the picture of beauty. Next to him, in place of the nymph, is Bedelia. It would be a beautiful tableau; one he might never be able to surpass. His crowning achievement in taking two people who he loves, Will as his heart and Bedelia his friend, and immortalizing in them his pain and disappointment. He couldn’t forgive, Hannibal decides. He wouldn’t be able to live with the betrayal, because Will would never stop betraying him.

Even so, when Hannibal had entered the Uffizi Gallery and walks to the Primavera with heavy steps, he had hoped Will would come here. When he hears footsteps behind him, he turns his head to find the battered and bruised object of his desire staring at him. Hannibal smiles, unable to conceal that happiness he feels in seeing Will. It was unlike himself, to reveal his true emotion. But for Will, he would until Will’s last breath. Hannibal couldn’t help it, just as he couldn’t help saying the next words.

Will begins first, “Good to see you,” and in this moment, his words are true. Sarcasm doesn’t fill his voice, instead it’s filled with something rounder and fuller. Elation, perhaps. Will can’t quite put his finger on it, and he would prefer to think he wasn’t happy to see Hannibal. His heart clenched at that crooked smile, the wrinkles around his eyes. Happiness on Hannibal looked almost misplaced, but Will was glad he could cause it. Will sits down next to Hannibal, their closeness not unwanted.

“If I say you every day forever, Will, I would remember this time,” Hannibal tells him poignantly, the confession gushing from his lips as a waterfall. Hannibal reconsiders the drawing before him, wondering if he could fashion Will so. Could any of designs honor Will? Or would they all fall flat before his feet in a sloppy plop, imperfect.

“Strange to see you in front of me. Been staring at afterimages of you in places you haven't been in years,” Will utters. He’d seen Hannibal wherever he’d walked, a constant pre-image to Florence that he couldn’t shake. He’d so convinced himself that he was here to kill Hannibal, that he’d ignored the awe that filled him walking on the streets where Hannibal had walked. He’d ignored the pumping of his heart as he explored Hannibal’s childhood, young adult life, and now present. He yearned to fell the man under his fingertips, and to know him wholly. His heart clenches upon taking in the full manifestation, real and tangible, now talking to him as if their relationship hadn’t been altered. Could Will imagine a time before that night when Hannibal had sliced his belly open and killed Abigail in spite? Could Will remember those countless nights he spent imagining running off with Hannibal in the dead of the night, swift and invisible, escaping the torment of Jack and the FBI and creating a new existence for themselves? The answers to these questions pang in Will’s head, crashing symbols in frenzy. He realizes he’s missed Hannibal, above all.

““To market, to market, to buy a fat pig. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig,”” Hannibal quotes jokingly.

“I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. I wondered if our stars were the same,” Will continues on. They had shared so much, minds almost intwined, he wonders if he and Hannibal were inseparable. Now with no ocean parting them, Will feels so close to Hannibal, he wonders what it would do to him if he were to pull away. He’d imagined the anger and fury that he would feel when finally meeting Hannibal in the moments before his demise; he’d always thought that these emotions would bubble up to the surface and compel him to wrap his fingers around Hannibal’s smooth neck and squeeze. But his fingers now are useless and numb, his heart pumping almost in arrythmia, and he realizes he doesn’t feel anger at all. What he feels is more of an infatuation, consuming him in a single bite. His eyes water, finally feeling fulfilled by the mere sight of Hannibal before him.

“I believe some of our stars will always be the same. You entered the foyer of my mind and stumbled down the hall of my beginnings,” Hannibal echoes, unable to deny that even long after Will is gone, he will revisit their old rooms with longing. He feels as if Will is already beginning to slip away, but he hopes that if he could tug hard enough on the red string that connected their souls, Will would return willing and freed from their old lives.

“I wanted to understand you before I laid eyes on you again. I needed it to be clear what I was seeing,” but Will did not gain the clarity he had wanted. In every aspect of Hannibal’s life, he had extracted only more beauty, not horror. He was ashamed to admit that he had fallen into a trap he had set out for himself, now entangled by enchantment and wonder. This was Hannibal’s doing, Will urges himself—Hannibal had primed him for this reaction, Hannibal Pavlov and Will a suffering dog.

Their smiles and laughs become subdued my poignant looks and yearning. Hannibal’s heart reaches out for Will’s, only to fall flat on the bench between them. Hannibal realizes that Will is still upset, conflicted. But he sees a new life in Will’s eyes prompted by what Will had learned, that breathes a sort of hope into Hannibal’s chest, warm and fragile as a newborn. “Where does the difference between the past and the future come from?” Hannibal asks, wanting to know Will’s insight.

“Mine? Before you and after you. Yours? It's all starting to blur. Mischa. Abigail. Chiyoh,” Will is dizzied by it all, unsure of where to start. Hannibal was complex and strange, a unique man who he’d struggle to let go.

“How is Chiyoh?” Hannibal asks, wanting to change the topic from themselves.

“She pushed me off a train,” Will tells him.

“Atta girl,” Hannibal smiles, proud of Chiyoh.

Will watches Hannibal for a moment, and finally admits what Hannibal had known to be true for so long. “You and I have begun to blur,” but Will says this to Hannibal with a kind of bitterness in his voice that Hannibal wishes he would replace with ardor.

“Isn't that how you found me?” Hannibal asks.

“Even as the possibility of free will dissipates, my experience of it remains the same. I continue to feel and act as though I have it,” Will admits, knowing that he has been and continues to be manipulated by Hannibal. This was why Will had wanted to kill him, for he knew that no matter how much distance was between them, Hannibal would always have the strings to control Will.

“The worm that destroys you is the temptation to agree with your critics, to get their approval,” Hannibal tells him truthfully. He knew that if Will could detach himself from the life he had lived, they could be successful. They would rise from the ashes of their past, reborn as something stronger.

“Every crime of yours feels like one I am guilty of. Not just Abigail's murder, but every murder stretching backward and forward in time,” the guilt eats away at Will as he admits himself to Hannibal, the honest truth of why he couldn’t run away with Hannibal.

“Then what's left to do? Freeing yourself from me and me freeing myself from you, they're the same,” Hannibal breathes, wishing that if Will could kill him, that he’d one day see Will in another life, their fingers touching in agreement and adoration.

“We're conjoined. Curious if either of us can survive separation,” Will replies, knowing that in riding himself of Hannibal, he would have to give up his mortal life, too. He wasn’t sure if he was prepared for that, the prospect of eternal blackness that would separate them for eternity, their remains scattered across the universe touching and not touching in constant flow. Perhaps death is the only way in which they could be united peacefully.

“Now's the hardest test: not letting rage and frustration, nor forgiveness, keep you from thinking,” Hannibal offers Will an out, presenting him the option to let go of the contempt and let the other emotions he holds for Hannibal swim freely in his mind. “Shall we?” Hannibal asks him. Hannibal stands from the bench, Will following closely behind.

“After you.”

****

In his home, Hannibal maneuvers Will to the couch. Will winces in pain, the bullet still inside of him. He’s lost some blood, but not enough to release his gaze from Hannibal. Hannibal brings water up to his lips tenderly and Will drinks it as if it’s liquid life.

As they talk, Will readies himself with a blade, knowing he must do this. The next moments happen quickly, Hannibal drugging Will, and Will drifting away to find the Wendigo greeting him in Hannibal’s place. Fear fills Will’s chest as he breathes ragged breathes, Hannibal’s words echoing, “Intense fear will come in waves. The body can't stand it for long.”

****

When Will wakes the bullet is removed Will’s shoulder. “Hannibal?” he calls out, looking up to find Hannibal seated, Will’s legs over Hannibal’s lap.

Hannibal stares at Will’s legs absentmindedly before respond, unsure of where to begin. “I had so hoped that you would be able to overcome your fears,” Hannibal begins. “Had you truly meant your forgiveness?” Hannibal questions, a tempest of heartbreak overtaking him.

“I did… I do,” Will starts before pursing his lips. He stares at Hannibal’s hands who gently rub his legs. The sensation is surprisingly relaxing, and he doesn’t want Hannibal to stop. “But I need to ask myself what kind of human I would be if I could forgive you?”

“One with admirable empathy, almost that of god. You think it’s something we don’t share. In trying to understand me—the one thing which you continue to deny is that I, as you, have insurmountable empathy. You and are I mirrors of each other, a perfect pair. To my dismay, you continue to avoid the inevitable. You choose to see the monster in both of us.”

“Whenever I close my eyes and see beauty in us, I tremble for the rest of the world,” Will counters, sitting up and sliding over to Hannibal. He places his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder, gripping it gently, “Could you blame me for that?”

Hannibal places a hand on Will’s cheek and strokes it tenderly, inhaling sharply. He wants to allow himself this. He wants to have Will in every way he possibly can, before it all turns sour again. “No,” Hannibal tells him, “Just as I can’t blame you for when you chose Jack first. You came to me anyway, to watch the trajectory of our fight.”

“I came because I had changed my mind,” Will counters. “Too late I realized what I lost. I sat in a hospital bed for months, healing from your knife wound and I held regret in my arms as if it were a stillborn child and I grieved. I grieved for our failure in raising Abigail. I grieved for losing you. The longer I sat, the more resentment boiled up inside of me, self-loathing coating me like putrefied plaster. What else can we have Hannibal—constant betrayal, a life of mutual manipulations. I would come to kill you only to draw back and then for you to try and kill me, on repeat. We are destruction.”

Hannibal allows for tears to flow from his eyes, unashamed that Will had caused them. He was the only one deserving of Hannibal’s tears, and he understand that he could only do Will justice by consuming him. This is what Will wants, above all, is for an end. “Can you imagine what fun we would have had in Florence,” Hannibal laughs then. “The dinners I would create from those who gasped at us, at… I would have worshipped the ground you walked upon as if you were a god.”

Will realizes then what Hannibal wants goes beyond the bounds of friendship. He hadn’t considered it such, even though he knew he loved Hannibal as his dearest friend. He never considered going farther, and yet as Hannibal musters those words, they don’t seem wrong or horrifying. He sees them as a missed opportunity, a closeness that they had not yet achieved. He brings his head closer to Hannibal’s, lips hovering over lips. “I’m sorry,” Will tells him as he closes the distance between them and kisses Hannibal fully.

Hannibal doesn’t expect the kiss, but he melts into it because he cannot help himself. The taste of Will is so intoxicating, he cannot tell himself to stop. To wait. His hands find themselves in Will’s unruly curls, pushing their lips closer to each other. Their tongues dance a violent tango, passionate and full of fire. Hannibal straddles Will then, parting their lips. The silence between them lands heavily before Will begins to undo Hannibal clothes, “I’m sorry,” Will cries then, hot tears spilling over his cheeks. Neither of them can stop themselves in the heat of their passion.

They make love as if were a requiem for their time together. Their naked bodies never closer, Will’s eyes roll back at the sensation that overcomes him. He feels so full, united with Hannibal that he’s on the brink of completely unfurling. They fit so perfectly together Hannibal knows that he’d never felt so completed before. Their union is an indulgence in pure beauty that Hannibal would never manage to move on from. As soon as he feels Will, he cannot imagine a life in which he doesn’t have Will in his arms day after day until the end. What would be the alternative? A meek, murky existence?

Will feels overwhelmed by the sensation of Hannibal thrusting into him, the first time he had ever been with a man. He realizes that the bounds of his attraction to Hannibal supersedes sexuality and orientation. He had for Hannibal’s mind, enchanted by its inner-workings and ornateness. And though he’s never desired this before, Will knows that afterwards his desire for Hannibal in this way would never be extinguished, even if he were to stomp on the embers to turn their time together into ash, the fire would light itself again, everlasting. 

“I,” Hannibal begins, whispering into Will’s ears. He continues to thrust on, more slowly, his tears dripping onto Will’s face. He cannot finish the words, the ones that maul at his chest to escape. “ _I love you_ ,” Hannibal wants to shout so that the walls of the room shake and the house crumbles on top of them, leaving them finally fulfilled in its rubble. Instead Hannibal tells him, “I can’t live without you,” sobbing into Will’s ear as he comes strongly into him.

Will comes moments later, capturing Hannibal’s lips into his own. “I can’t either,” he mutters against Hannibal’s cheek when Hannibal collapses on top of Will, breathing heavily.

They lay close to each other on the couch that is too small for them, so that neither falls. Hannibal grips onto Will as if he’s about to lose him, his head sitting against his chest listening to the strong heartbeats raging on.

Moments pass as they stroke each other, the night falling heavy upon them. Will is the first to speak when the haze of their lovemaking finally passes as he brings himself into reality. “I cannot live with you,” Will concludes.

Hannibal nods slowly, bringing a syringe from between the couch cushions into his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he injects Will once more, sending him back into darkness and fear.

****

Hannibal doesn’t kill Will, instead they become captured by Mason. He saves Will and himself, only to find themselves in the familiar surroundings of Will’s home in Wolf Trap, Virginia. Hannibal admits to himself that the sight of Will’s home is like a warm hug, holding him tightly. Having sewn up Will, he places Will on the bed and waits. He knows the Jack Crawford would be here soon, and this would be their last chance at a life with each other. No matter how slim the probability, Hannibal ever the optimist, continues to hope.

When Will wakes up, Hannibal looks at him with affection. He sits in a chair across from Will and stares at Will as a man completely blinded by infatuation. “Do we talk about teacups and time and the rules of disorder?” Hannibal asks, his visage filled with apprehension. He looks into the light peaking through Will’s windows, wondering if this is a sign of new beginning.

“The teacup is broken. It'll never gather itself back together again,” Will tells Hannibal gruffly. It is true to Will; he believes that they would never be able to be what they once could have been. Their fantasy had been beautiful, but it was long gone.

“Not even in your mind?” Hannibal looks away from Will, slowly coming undone. “Your memory palace is building. It's full of new things. It shares some rooms with my own. I've discovered you there. Victorious,” Hannibal concludes. He is proud of Will, who he is becoming, though he fears it will be without him by his side.

“When it comes to you and me, there can be no decisive victory,” Will spits back, upset.

“We are a zero-sum game?” Hannibal asks.

Will looks at his home, his past life, and realizes that Hannibal does not fit in it. He never had. The doctor might have, but the Ripper was the opposite of what Will surrounds himself by. It was time to remove this ill-fitting piece from his life, no matter if it felt as if he were surgically removing his own heart and casting it away. “I miss my dogs. I'm not going to miss you. I'm not going to find you. I'm not going to look for you. I don't want to know where you are or what you do. I don't want to think about you anymore,” Will breathes. It is a lie, that he wouldn’t miss Hannibal. That he wouldn’t think about him. But it is something that must happen, because Will cannot live with the alternative. He would only continue to spiral in hatred of himself, deeper into the world of Hannibal.

Hannibal despairs over Will’s callousness but know that Will is lying to him. He wants to inflict pain to Hannibal, but Hannibal will not fight back with daggers. “You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight,” Hannibal notes, telling Will that he would always be himself and nothing else.

“You delight. I tolerate,” Will responds, a delusion that he would try to believe as long as he is able to.

The words sting at Hannibal, “Tolerance is a fig leaf to hide your ravenous self from the world.”

“I don't have your appetite,” Will concludes. “Goodbye, Hannibal.” Will breathes in shakily, watching the man walk away. He knows he won’t turn Hannibal in; he won’t tell Jack where he knows Hannibal will go. Will instead plans how he will disappear from this life, from Jack, and start a new life. Plain, simple. Boring. It’s what Will wants.

****

When Jack does come, Will opens the door. He’s already rehearsed his lines in his head, planned his escape from scrutiny. “He's gone, Jack,” Will shouts, Jack fuming.

“I’m here,” Hannibal voice rips through the air, terrifying Will. His heart drops as he sees Hannibal walk out from the side of his house; Hannibal hadn’t left at all. He awaited his capture. Will cannot imagine him behind bars—this was wrong. Hannibal couldn’t be undone so simply, without fanfare and the action of the Greek epics. This is the wrong ending for him, for their story. He would rather Hannibal disappear into obscurity and emerge a new killer oceans away.

His arms above his head, Hannibal kneels before the FBI agents. “You’ve finally caught the Ripper, Jack,” Hannibal breathes, amused at Jack’s dissatisfaction.

“Didn’t catch you, you surrendered,” Jack growls. This wasn’t the ending he had imagined, either.

Hannibal turns then to face Will, tears threatening to breech from his eyes. “I want you to know exactly where I am. And where you can find me.” Hannibal would wait an eternity for Will to stop choosing somebody other than him. There is no difference between a life away from Will and a life inside of a cage. This is how Hannibal sinks to the depths of depravity, a white flag in one hand and his bleeding heart in the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may ask: What's the purpose of this story? Well, for one, I want to offer an interpretation of the scenes. And for another, I want to lead up to Will and Hannibal's life post-fall through my interpretation of what Hannibal and Will could have been thinking in the show.


	3. Come on baby, This ain't the last time that I'll see your face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will tries to get over Hannibal, marrying Molly and creating a life for himself in Maine. When the Red Dragon calls, Hannibal waits carefully in his cell like a predator perched from the clouds looking down. Will finds himself drawn to the man, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Time To Die by Billie Eilish is a song I listened to 100x times while writing this chapter. I drank fine Italian white wine in a cozy sweater with roses next to me as well. I hope it's reflected in the chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

The first months of the trial are brutal for Will, having to sit and tell his truth, the cannibal watching every movement of his mouth. Will, if he could, wouldn’t have testified. Jack expected him too; if hadn’t, it would have been suspicious. How could he maintain that he wanted Hannibal behind bars whilst admitting the deafening shrieking of his heart toiling within his chest? He wants to avoid Hannibal’s eyes while on the stand, but those black chasms capture him and squeeze around his throat—his words come out stuttered, mumbled, and incoherent.

When the trial is finally over, Will feels as if he’d been spat out of hell a confused and damaged soul. He drifts from day to day, aimlessly, never picking up Jack’s calls. No other killer is worthy of him, of flitting about his mind—they would be lacking, incomplete, laughable things. The kind of thing he would have left squealing out of its mother, an insult. He no longer sees with clarity, but with blood soaked peripheral.

Three months after the trial, Will tells himself that it’s time to peel back the coat of ill that’s grown on his skin, and scrub it off until he’s raw and red, newborn. The first days are hard, leaving his home. He takes small steps, walking his dogs and fly fishing. With time, he shoves Hannibal’s office in the recesses of his mind, covers their conversations in a thick white blanket, and packs up the rest in a small box to move into his new life which he’d open once in a while just to remind himself of what it’s like to live. Just as he’s decided to move on, he meets her.

She’s a good, dog loving woman with patience and virtue. At first, he wants to avoid her because he doesn’t understand why she would ever consider wanting him? He’s verklempt and speechless, and when he finally does call her back it’s through nervous laughs and stuttering like a sixteen-year-old boy with half a boner and confusion, but she’s a thrill that takes his mind away from the turmoil. It’s odd, all of it. But he lets himself become swept up by her, thoughtlessly. Never mind the lack of attraction or the plain conversation. She finds him charming, his quirks adorable. She loves his empathy, only finding the light in it. She isn’t disturbed by his truth. Day after day, it’s easy. He writes a script in his head, unknowingly producing a movie he’s not quite satisfied with. It’s boring, plain, white bread and unsalted butter—he could choke on its dryness. But it’s not indulgent and supple flavors that tantalize his taste buds and threaten to expand his appetite—and for that, he’s thankful. It’s why when four months into dating Molly, he proposes to her gruffly and nonchalantly in the morning, placing a ring on her finger so she can look at it when she wakes up. It’s avoidance, because he knows she’ll accept but he doesn’t want to see the look on her face when she sees the ring. He can’t bare to think of the glee that’ll spread from cheek to cheek.

This for him, is a funeral. He’d dressed in black for the day, teaching with distress and death exuding from his every orifice; even his students wonder who had passed away though none of them ask. How could he tell them he’d died that day while Molly’s new life had just begun? Who would understand? He wasn’t here, not any longer. He who completely understood him. He who had looked into his soul and clutched it close to him, unwilling to let go unless pried away. _He_.

Like a god looming over him, a storm cloud of chaos. No, Will won’t let it rain on him; he’ll shield himself with the umbrella he’s fashioned out of Molly in his mind, her bones fragile wires and her skin the covering that deflects the rain drops of Hannibal Lecter that threaten to leach into the soil he’s carefully nourished with stability and acceptance that lay within his new life. It’s why on his wedding day, he doesn’t open the letter he’s received. He wonders if Hannibal had somehow heard. Three hours before standing at the end of the aisle, dressed in his suit, he allows himself to cry. It’s the only time he does in three years of not seeing Hannibal.

He had insisted on waiting with Molly, until their wedding night. Every night he avoided touching her soft thighs and pressing kisses on her pink lips. He couldn't bare to hear her soft gasps or her low voice in a growl. When he finally manages to shove his thick member between her aching thighs, he closes his eyes and he meets pools of liquid chocolate infused with rich blood staring back at him. He kisses thin, crooked lips in his mind’s eye remembering the sorrow of their union. It’s how he manages, pressing a kiss on Molly’s cheek after he’s finished, and she lies gasping for breath underneath him. He had just ravaged her body as if he would have torn apart Hannibal.

As Molly sleeps next to him, heavy and lightly snoring, Will reaches into the nightstand and pulls out the letter, still unopened. He inhales sharply as he pulls apart the envelope, reaching in for the letter. Will’s name is scrawled ornately in charcoal on a second envelope. He opens this one too, his hand shaking.

_I only wish you happiness…_

It says. Will reads the words over and over. He finds his thoughts incoherent and spinning, his heart thumping. How could he write so little? Will crumples the letter, feeling betrayed. He does not need Hannibal Lecter in his life.

Life goes on, simply. He creates a routine for himself so that he avoids the memories. Most days, he manages to forget. Some days, he hides in his classroom until late hours with excuses about grading exams or having to help a group of students. Molly believes him in earnest. He pities her on those days.

****

They move to Maine, to escape Wolf Trap, Virginia. Will never sells the old house, unable to. To much laid there for him to just give it up. Instead, he lets it fall apart through time, assaulted by weather and whatever animals may burrow into it. It’s the only way Will could let it go, if it falls apart naturally. Even so, Hannibal manages to find Will. A new killer on the loose, Will feels he shouldn’t heed Jack’s call but Molly urges him to help anyway. Even Hannibal cautions him against it in the letter he reads while Molly’s ignorant to it all, but this only pushes Will towards Jack and the Tooth Fairy, and most importantly--towards Hannibal.

_"Dear Will, we have all found a new life, but our old lives hover in the shadows, like incipient madness. Soon enough, I fear Jack Crawford will come knocking. I would encourage you, as a friend, not to step back through the door he holds open. It's dark on the other side and madness is waiting..."_

Hannibal’s scrawl is pure nostalgia plastered on a page, Will inhales sharply, pushing it away. Will decides to help Jack hunt the Tooth Fairy, catapulted back into a world he had wanted to abandon. It feels revitalizing, strangely. He flows through it effortlessly, imagining the Tooth Fairy’s design. After he sees it, he feels unhinged. Tainted by another killer’s view. He needs to be restored… He needs to see…

Hannibal.

****

The first time he sees Hannibal in three years, the meeting is short. Hannibal stares at him from beyond the glass and Will can’t bare to look back at him. His eyes betray him, they tell Hannibal in so many words, “I wish I hadn’t done this to you.”

Hannibal takes it as open arms back into Will’s life—he will find a way out of these bars, or perhaps Will would find a way to release him. Hannibal knows it immediately when he views the slightest upturn of Will’s cherry lips. He can’t hide him, always.

When Hannibal sees Will for the first time in so many years, he becomes insatiable. All he can imagine is the life that they could have had by the seaside with Abigail. Alas, that was a future no longer viable. Even so, Hannibal wets his lips daily to the images of Will splattered across his mind. Molly and Wally are temporary obstacles, ones that he knows will be shoved under the carpet soon. He wonders if Will feels the electricity in the air too, whenever they’re in this room together, glass separating them. Hannibal, if he could will it, would reach through the glass as if it were intangible, and wrap his arms around Will—his visitations could only mean one thing: Will had finally given in to finding him where he knew would always be able to. Thus, Hannibal decides to interject himself into Will’s life, planting a seed that Will won’t stop from sprouting.

****

Molly attacked, Will’s vision becomes distorted by mirrors in Molly’s eyes, her mouth gaping open. And the blood. Everything is carnage. Will shakes with fury—this was Hannibal. His cruel hands had twisted Will into a broken knot, laying in pieces on the floor. He can barely manage to breathe. It’s why he goes to Bedelia, someone who he had shared Hannibal with.

They talk in strained conversation, one loathing the other, and the other filled with jealousy. This isn’t healthy or ethical psychiatry. This is a bitching contest for the damned. Bedelia watches Will with a unique interest, wondering if so many years ago she too had been so unhinged. She knew she could slitter through Hannibal’s world and escape only so many times. With Will sitting across from her, she knows he is an active threat to the safety she’s enveloped herself in. Yet, she wants to know if Hannibal had finally found who he had been searching for his in wretched life. Could Will be his true counterpart? Or was he yet another pawn that Hannibal would cast away, bored by their game?

“Hannibal has no intention of seeing me dead by any other hand than his own, and only then if he can eat me. He's in no position to eat me now,” Bedelia tells Will confidently.

“If you play, you pay,” Will responds morbidly.

“You've paid dearly. That knowledge will lie against your skin forever,” Bedelia observes. She finds that Will had been claimed in a unique way by Hannibal, one that no one else had been. She gulps at the realization. “It excites him to see you marked in this particular way.”

Will, unable to accept her words asks, “Why?”

“Why do you think?” Bedelia retorts, the answer glaringly obvious. She thinks of her escape, planning to run off. Across from her, she sees the thoughts stirring in Will’s mind as if she had placed a microscope in front of it. She can read its every detail. His desires startle her.

“Bluebeard's wife. Secrets you're not to know, yet sworn to keep,” Will utters. He mulls on his words, trying to find where Hannibal fits inside of them. He thinks of their singular night together, their conversation after words. _I would have worshipped the ground you walked upon as if you were a god._ Will shudders at the sound of Hannibal’s voice echoing through his mind. He could almost feel the ghost of Hannibal’s lips brushing over his own. Temptation.

“If I'm to be Bluebeard's wife, I would've preferred to be the last,” Bedelia admits, honestly. She knows she was never a match for Hannibal, only a passing desire or kind of toy he would smash into pieces once it had served its purpose as a plaything.

“Is Hannibal in love with me?” Will finds himself asking, the words seeming ill-fitting together. Love and Hannibal—how could he? And then he thinks on, about the depth of Hannibal’s emotions. They seemed to reach caverns that few could begin to comprehend, pushing the limits of human ability to feel. Hannibal had been shaken by the love he had grown for Will, a sensation he had seldom felt. Perhaps Will is the only person Hannibal had ever loved other than his sister, Mischa.

“Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment in the very sight of you? Yes,” Bedelia speaks truthfully. It was something she knew about Hannibal, perhaps even before he had succumbed to the feeling. Sitting on the couch across from her, having imprisoned his only true friend, tears falling from his eyes. She had seen in then, the danger of the storm brewing within him. The beginnings of a hurricane. “But do you ache for him?” Bedelia questions Will.

Will, however, is unable to answer out loud. His heart swells inside of his chest, a wave overcoming the shore of stability he had built over three years. It had been calm for so long, and he finds now that a tempest brews wild and terrifying. The hairs on his arms stand up and he looks within himself, toiling for the truth.

****

Once again, Will finds himself standing across from Hannibal. He doesn’t know how he had driven to the mental institution, or how long it had taken. Time ceased when he felt the flow of love like shark teeth loose in ocean waters over his skin. And he can’t deny that he lavishes in how those teeth cut him open and draw blood.

He tells Hannibal that he will return to Molly and his life, as usual. Hannibal knows that it’s pathetic farce and naivete to believe that a shred of their marriage is still intact. “Mutual assurances you try to exchange in the dark and in the day will pass through some refraction, making them miss their mark. When life becomes maddeningly polite...” Hannibal struggles for the next words, but when he does find them, they come free and true from his lips. “...think about me. Think about me, Will, don't worry about me.”

Will shakes as he tells Hannibal the next words, having laid within his chest unspoken for years. He can’t hold them in any longer, they’ve grown in strength like unruly weeds. “You turned yourself in so I would always know where you are. You'd only do that if I rejected you,” Will tells him. “Goodbye, Hannibal.”

Hannibal knows that this is not a good-bye. Will Graham is not good at good-byes, and neither is Hannibal. “Will... Was it good to see me?” Hannibal asks as Will begins to leave.

“Good? No.” Will manages to sputter out as he turns to face Hannibal one last time. This would not be the last he would see of Hannibal, but the cameras and microphones overhead must take in these words so that Alana would view them as the truth. Not a soul could begin to suspect the plan which is brewing in Will’s head.

****

Covered in blood, shot and cut, Will and Hannibal stand across from each other at the edge of the cliffside. The blood of the Great Red Dragon shines black in the moonlight, awing Will. His heart thumps in his chest as he feels breathless. His love for Hannibal is inconvenient. Marriage and a step-child had not changed the urge that gnawed at Will’s mind, the darkness the loomed within him like a beast waiting to be freed from its cage. Will let the beast free, the lock falling to the floor with a pathetic clang.

“It really does look black in the moonlight,” Will comments on the blood.

Hannibal and Will clutch each other, for the first time finally and completely one. They edge closer to the cliff, the rocks falling down into the dark and tumultuous waters. “See. This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us,” Hannibal whispers. He leans in closer to Will, his lips barely brushing over Will’s. In these moments, Hannibal finally finds himself fulfilled. Will had chosen someone else for so long, it almost feels strange that Will has chosen Hannibal now.

“It’s beautiful,” Will tells him, his voice shuddering. It’s all he sees, gushes of blood and the sharp lines of Hannibal’s face. There’s only one option for them now, only one ending that Will could accept. He needs to leave it to fate, to let other forces decide if their union could exist in the world. As tears spill over Will’s cheeks, he pushes them over the cliff side, a comforting blackness engulfing them.


	4. I don't want your body, But I hate to think about you with somebody else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal survive the fall off of the cliff, and their lives begin anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song I would suggest listening to while reading this:  
> Schubert--Standchen (Piano version preferable)

Will is unsure of how much time passes when he’s swept under the current, the waves assaulting his body. He doesn’t remember being dragged out of the sea, Hannibal hauling his body to the shore. It’s better that he doesn’t recall it, as a person doesn’t recall their birth. It must have been horrible being spat up by the tumultuous waters, almost black in the moonlight. Not even heaven or hell had wanted them, a shocking realization that prompts Will to eventually believe they were placed on the earth to torment others. He doesn’t feel wrong about this conclusion; he feels empowered by it.

When Will finally does come to himself, he finds himself in familiar surroundings. Hannibal watches him with concern filling his eyes, and Will doesn’t miss the gashes on Hannibal’s body. So this is it then, the two of them, left standing together. Will knows that their odds of dying were much higher than living. He should have known when he had thrown them off the cliffside, their story could not end so plainly. It had only just begun. Moreover, Hannibal Lecter couldn’t be defeated so easily.

Hannibal cups Will’s face with his hand, smiling brightly. He would laugh now, if he had the energy. He wonders if Bedelia had run off, but he hopes she wouldn’t be so stupid. In her home, he feels the safest. Jack wouldn’t come here immediately. A crew would scour the water by the cliffs, finding nothing. The Red Dragon’s camera having recorded their fall, Hannibal feels at ease. He looks at Will’s now open eyes and bends forward to press a kiss on his forehead.

“You can be quite hotheaded, I’ve come to learn,” Hannibal tells him, his chest swelling. His heart beats hard, full of happiness. Hannibal knows he would have preferred this alternative to death, and he can’t help but think that his sheer willpower is what had saved them both. His hands and feet, weak from blood loss, transported them out of the water. When Will couldn’t bear to swim, Hannibal swam to the shore, holding Will to his back. When Will didn’t breathe, Hannibal parted his lips and breathed hot air into his chest for longer than any other person would have. He breathed life into Will until the water cleared from his lungs, a sharp gasp escaping. Hannibal had no option for only one of them to survive. He would have rather had the water take them both to the bottom of the ocean, their corpses spinning out in the current until even their bones disintegrate into sand.

“Love is a rebellious bird that no one can tame,” Will husks, coughing. His chest feels heavy and damaged, but he wants to say a million words to Hannibal at first. Then he looks into Hannibal’s softened eyes and realizes that there are no apologies necessary; Hannibal had forgiven him before he had sent them both over the cliffside. Hannibal might have even anticipated it, allowing Will to finally find his reckoning.

“I would never try to tame you,” Hannibal tells him honestly, brushing a few damp curls away from Will’s forehead. “But I hope you won’t be sending us over any cliffsides in the near future.”

“I can’t promise that,” Will laughs.

Bedelia comes to the living room where she finds a strange sight before her. She had never seen Hannibal with honest happiness spread across every inch of his body. It was deceiving. The horror that Will and Hannibal would unleash in time—Bedelia couldn’t imagine. Even so, she manages the faintest smile when she sets her suitcase down.

“They’ll be here soon,” she tells them both. “It’s best we get going.”

****

In Florence, they begin a new life. It’s temporary, they know. But it is a beginning that Hannibal and Will had both wanted. A redo of the past that had gone so wrong. They allow themselves a few days in Florence before they move on to the next city and then the next, living as nomads until enough time passes and they can settle down, invisible predators in a city of prey.

At first, Will and Hannibal allow each other space. The first day in Florence they spend apart, not because they want to be without each other, but because they are unsure of how to navigate life together. For the first time, Hannibal allows Will room to breathe and meditate. Will feels freed by this space, and also annoyed. He wants Hannibal’s claws to sink into his soft, pale flesh and pull it apart. _Devour me_. Will’s eyes exude as he looks at Hannibal on their second day in Florence. The clock is ticking, the dials nearly ready to fall off the face of the clock.

The second time they make love to each other in Florence, it is unlike the first. Their first foray into this territory had been a tempest of misery and regret. Now, the clouds have cleared, and when they kiss their noses touch but not covered with wet tears. No, they look each other in the eyes as Hannibal thrusts into Will, the wendigo and Hannibal morphing into one. But Will is not afraid this time of what he sees. No, it is sheer beauty manifested through Hannibal’s uniquely gorgeous mind.

When Hannibal finally allows himself to sink into Will, he unfurls his soul completely and irreversibly. Will holds it in his hands delicately and with acceptance. They are sad when they leave Florence, knowing the sweet memories they would leave behind. But they must leave, with thin promises of one day returning.

****

A blurred image, faces unrecognizable, Will and Hannibal live on in the tabloids that Jack checks every so often. Freddie Lounds’ morbid curiosity for the Murder Husbands lives on even though their death is almost universally accepted. Jack cannot deny that the men in the photo are Will and Hannibal, even though he can’t distinguish their faces from the other people in the photo. A sick feeling in the pit of his stomach whispers to him as the devil, it must be them. He prepares himself, a ticket purchased. He knows it’s foolish to think they would go where Hannibal had already been. Hannibal wouldn’t be so naïve. But Jack can’t leave a single stone unturned in his hunt for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but I do hope you enjoyed it. I will continue this look into season 4 in a new fic at some later date, after I finish Anew and perhaps even Deception or Portraits. I imagine season 4 would go on with Jack hunting for Hannibal and Will only for a new murder to emerge in the states that brings Jack back, only to have to find Hannibal and Will in order to take this murderer down. 
> 
> Love is a rebellious bird that no one can tame--A translation from the first two lines of Habanera from Carmen.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a short work of about 3-4 chapters. The next chapter retells Hannibal and Will's meeting in the art gallery, and the events afterwards. Rating may go up with the next chapter.


End file.
